


Touch of a Ghost

by hentailobster



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, spooky spook, that's how we like it baby!, written in the middle of the night and not proofread
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hentailobster/pseuds/hentailobster
Summary: He only realized what was wrong when he tried to lean against a wall and fell right through it.





	Touch of a Ghost

The first thing that baffled Steve was that his legs were back. Right where he was used to having them before the war, working perfectly. It was no wonder he thought it was a dream at first.  
One more thing that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around at first was why he could’t leave his apartment. Or why he was even there in the first place. The last thing he remembered was being alone on the street, a cold winter evening. Thrown out of his home, unable to go anywhere… He only realized what was wrong when he tried to lean against a wall and fell right through it.  
Now that was by far the strangest thing to have happened to him that day. 

Being dead wasn’t too bad, Steve soon came to realize. While he did miss eating, he did so while he was alive too, so that wasn’t really a problem. He didn’t feel as much as back when he was alive, but he didn’t mourn that particularly much either He just couldn’t find it in him to miss the feeling of the cold street corner that was his home for the last few weeks.  
What he did miss were two things- freedom and company. He had wanted to see Peggy. To know that she was safe, and doing fine, but he couldn’t leave his former home, now inhabited by a young writer. He was rarely home, and left his- _their_ \- home in a miserable state. Steve practically itched to clean up, even though he knew for certain that he couldn’t have itches. Still, it bothered him to no end, and one day he got so frustrated that he decided to try even though he was certain that he was doomed to fail.  
To his surprise, he didn’t. Or at least not entirely. He couldn’t touch the objects in the apartment, but he could shift them slightly if he focused enough. It took time, and was surprisingly straining, but Steve was stubborn, and the feeling of almost-exhaustion only spurred him on. It was nice feeling something, even if it was only ’half’.  
So when the young writer got home the next morning, he was shocked to find his home completely clean. In fact, he had been so shocked that he had decided to leave the house the very same day, babbling with someone on the phone that it gave him ’bad vibes’ and was ’unsuitable for creating’. Steve didn’t miss him. He just hoped the next inhabitant would take better care of the house.  
It took a while before someone was willing to buy the apartment. Steve wasn’t entirely aware of how fast time went, but when the new owner arrived he almost fainted at the sight of her clothes. He had never seen anything like them before, short skirt, colors that stung his eyes and the _sunglasses…_ The music she played was unbearable to say the least, and he soon decided she had to go. He tried to remember everything from what few ghost stories he had read as a kid, deciding whatever had scared people back in his days would be just as effective whenever ’now’ was. Not too confident in his ability to actually show himself, he decided to go with just a few instances of moving furniture around. It was a little trickier than cleaning up trash, but once he got the technique down it was effective as hell. The girl was out in less than a week.  
Time went by, and people got less superstitious, making driving them out much harder. One particularly obnoxious family stayed for more than a year. When they finally left Steve felt more tired than he had done in decades. He had, by this point, gotten a bit of a grasp of what year it was and tried to keep track of it as best as he could, but time just didn’t make sense when you were dead. The only times it seemed to move normally was when there was someone around, and that wasn’t supposed to be very often, at least not if Steve had any say in it. Anyway, when the family left it was around the late 1900s, and no one moved in until the next millennium.  
Steve watched the man enter from a corner. His moving boxes had arrived a few days earlier, and judging from their contents the new inhabitant was looking unusually messy. All the evidence pointed to some sort of inventor, and in Steve’s experience that wasn’t a good sign. No inventors had been living in the house before, but he had known his fair share of them.  
This new one immediately set up what looked like a coffee machine (The last family had had one as well, only far less modern) and brewed himself a cup. He didn’t look like he was going to be eating anything else, even though it was past dinner time. That kind of annoyed Steve. He knew to appreciate food, for more than one reason, and health was a luxury he didn’t have anymore. It felt a little unfair to watch this man waste his tastebuds like that.  
Steve followed the man as he started charging an unfamiliar piece of technology. It was slimmer than a book, and Steve hadn’t believed it to be technology were it not for the silent hum of machines working within it.  
He stayed by the strange piece of machinery until its owner returned and opened it, revealing a screen and a keyboard. Steve came to the conclusion that it must be some sort of computer. Technology seemed to just move faster and faster for each new ’roommate’ of his. He sometimes wondered how in the world they managed to keep up with it.  
The man started typing something in on the device. It looked like a letter, and on the screen were two books titled ’to’ and ’from’. The first was empty, but in the second the man had typed ’tony.stark@gmail.com’. Steve didn’t know what gmail meant, but he was bright enough to figure out that the name of his new flatmate must be Tony.  
He watched Tony work on his letter for a few minutes when, suddenly, the opening tune to a musical piece started sounding through the apartment. Steve didn’t recognize it, but Tony seemed to do so as he started humming along whilst getting up and starting wandering through the house looking for something. It took him a while, but he managed to locate what looked like the computer’s screen in miniature form. It was displaying a name Steve didn’t know and two button-like symbols, one green and one red. Tony picked it up and gently touched the green one, which to Steve’s surprise made the music stop. Instead he could hear a faint voice coming from the device, which Tony then responded to. _Must be a new type of telephone,_ he thought as he half-heartedly listened to what Tony was saying. He mentioned getting settled in and eating, the latter being a worryingly effortless lie. Steve wasn’t too fond of lying, even though it was harmless. It just didn’t sit well with him. He glared disapprovingly at Tony who was moving towards the kitchen area, currently only inhabited by the coffee machine. It was getting quite late, and coffee didn’t seem like it would be a good choice of snack at this time. Steve usually waited until the newcomers had stayed for a while before he started his hauntings, but this was just too much for him. He needed to do something about Tony, and if all things went well it could work as a good hint.  
He barely needed to make an effort with pulling the plug to the coffee maker before Tony had reached it. He didn’t notice at first, only when he tried pushing one of the buttons and nothing happened. Cursing he inspected the thing, looking like he was about to try to pick apart the damned thing. Steve considered letting him have his way, but ultimately decided against it. It would just make a mess, and that hadn’t been his intentions at all. Concentrating for a second, he made the contact swing, banging just enough against the kitchen counter to gain Tony’s attention. He looked up from the machine and frowned in confusion at the swaying cord.  
”Anyone there?” He said it hesitantly, as if he didn’t really believe what he was saying. Steve didn’t answer, obviously. His voice wouldn’t be heard, and he hadn’t used it since his death. Tony stared at the cord for a while longer then muttered something about the vents and plugged it in. Steve couldn’t help but feel some sense of victory when he observed that Tony managed to forget about getting coffee and instead headed back to his computer. Steve followed, seeing as he had nothing better to do. It was certainly interesting seeing Tony work, even though it didn’t make much sense to Steve. He liked getting a view of how the world was doing before he chased someone out. Keeping himself updated, so to speak.  
When morning came Steve felt like he had a pretty good grasp of what Tony’s work consisted of. He was working for some sort of company that had him design and build prototypes for all types of machinery. Steve was impressed at first, but by the time morning came he was too annoyed that Tony wasn’t going to bed. Even though he looked like he was about to fall asleep on multiple occasions and- from what Steve could tell- wasn’t at all far behind on his work, he was still up by the time birds started chirping. At nine o’ clock he finally left the couch, but instead of taking a nap or something he just brewed himself a cup of coffee and spent a few minutes drinking it, and looking out the window. Steve, in his turn, looked at Tony, trying to figure out if how peaceful he was looking was natural or because of his lack of sleep. 

Tony spent the day- not at all to Steve’s surprise, but definitely to his exasperation- working. He had moved from the computer and was now setting up a workplace on the kitchen table and any free space surrounding it. By noon the entire house looked like the aftermath of an explosion, and at the centre of it all Tony was building some sort of robot. Steve couldn’t do anything about the mess, to his great dismay. Most of what was getting in the way was made of metal, and way too heavy for him to move. He decided that the best course of action would be to try and hint at Tony that he needed to keep clean, but it was simply impossible to get his attention. The only distraction Steve managed to cause was a temporary loss of power, but within the hour some sort of backup energy source had been installed, with a complicated code system that Steve couldn’t manipulate. It was starting to really piss him off, and combined with Tony’s complete lack of interest in eating it put Steve in an extremely foul mood. He was starting to consider doing something drastic- though he wasn’t entirely sure what- when Tony _finally_ got up and headed to the door. He picked up a light jacket, a pair of headphones and an old wallet and left the house, hopefully to get himself some damn food. Steve was almost surprised that he remembered to lock the door.  
Tony returned an hour later with two plastic bags filled with pre-made food that you reheated to eat, and Steve was getting even more mad at him. Cooking was _simple_ for Christ's sake, and whatever it was that Tony had bought Steve could swear it wasn’t good for him. Still, he couldn’t do much about it and had to watch in horror as Tony ate half a packet of microwave chicken nuggets and absentmindedly put the rest in the fridge. He then made a cup of coffee and got back to working at his computer, not looking like he was going to stop anytime soon.  
Hours went by, and as they were approaching midnight Steve had enough. Not 100% sure what he was going to do he floated over to where Tony was sitting, hanging in the air just above his head. Steve watched Tony for a few moments then got to work. He tried the usual at first, namely making furniture shift around in the room, having the curtains flutter for no reason and the likes, but as per usual nothing caught Tony’s attention. After almost half an hour Steve was running out of ideas.  
He stopped of a while, trying to think about what to do. He hadn’t encountered a problem like this before, so he’d have to try something new. Hesitantly he stretched out a hand towards Tony, trying to come up with a plan. He failed, and in the end settled with just putting his hand on Tony’s neck as a start.  
It was surprisingly effective. The second he made contact, or whatever you’d call it, Tony yelped and shot straight up, almost falling off the bed. There was a considerable amount of trembling in his voice when he asked ”Who’s there?”  
He frantically looked around the room, and Steve retreated into a corner to avoid getting in the way. It hadn’t been in his intentions to scare Tony that much, and he didn’t want to do it again by accident. He raised his hands and looked at them, almost as if it was the first time he saw them. It had been weird touching someone, and the reaction he got wasn’t really encouraging.  
He was so lost in thought that it took him a good while to realize that Tony had stopped moving. He was, instead, frozen, staring directly at the corner where Steve was standing with a look of utter terror on his face. Steve stared back, as shocked as Tony at the fact that it appeared as though he was being _seen._  
”Who- Who are you?” It was barely more than a whisper, and Steve was almost tempted to respond. But he couldn’t. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t. His lips felt as though they had been frozen shut.  
So they just remained staring at each other until finally, Steve slowly backed away through the wall. 

The next day Tony left early. He looked distracted and kept on mumbling to himself about the events the night before. Steve couldn’t really blame him. It must have been a shock to see Steve standing in the corner of his bedroom in clothes that probably looked ancient.  
Steve sighed and checked the window, hoping to see Tony return. He didn’t like the idea of him being out in his state of shock. His morals may have been somewhat dulled since he died, but he still wasn’t comfortable being responsible for someone getting hurt. So he stayed anxiously by the window, waiting for Tony to return unscratched, which luckily did eventually happen.  
He entered the door with a bunch of papers and a look of determination on his face. Without hesitation he pulled down the curtains, leaving the apartment in total darkness. He then lit a few candles and sat down in between them, placing his papers in front of him. Steve watched curiously, but remained at a distance, hoping not to scare Tony again.  
Tony picked up one of the papers, reading out loud from it. ”Hello. My name is Tony Stark. If there is a spirit in this room, please confirm your presence” His voice was surprisingly strong and steady, and Steve tried to be as gentle as possible when he made the candles flicker. It still made Tony gasp, but Steve supposed it couldn’t be helped. Tony cleared his throat.  
”I think I’ve figured out who you are” he picked a pencil out of one of his pockets and pushed it forward along with a blank paper. ”Please, if you can, try to confirm if my assumptions are correct”  
Steve looked hesitantly at the pencil. he hadn’t tried manipulating them before, but he supposed he could try. Focusing as hard as he could, he made it float through the air and rest by the paper, ready to write a response. Tony’s breath was quickening, but his voice was still steady.  
”Are you Steven Rogers?”  
Seve was surprised to hear his name spoken. He had assumed that was something of days past, but somehow Tony had managed to find it. With slightly shaky handwriting he wrote a _’y e s’_ in response.  
”You-” Tony had to swallow thickly ”You were in the war. And you lost your legs. Is this correct?”  
_’y e s’_  
”How did you” There was a pause. Tony looked around the room quickly, but apparently couldn’t spot Steve even though he had moved remarkably closer ”How did you die?”  
Steve froze. He couldn’t really remember exactly, but he knew how. It was obvious really, but difficult to write, especially like this. I the end, the only thing he managed to write was four letters: _’c_ _o_ _l_ _d’_  
It looked like Tony understood.  
”I’m-, I’m so sorry” Tony trailed off at the end and fell to the floor, spreading the papers out around him. 

It took a while for the fire to start.  
Steve didn’t notice until it was too late and the machines were already spewing out unpleasant-looking smoke, filling up the entire apartment. He tried to see through it, hoping not to find Tony still on the floor where he had passed out, but it was too thick. The only thing Steve could see was how the apartment slowly but steadily disappeared. He couldn't tell if ay effort was one to save it, too mesmerized by the flames slowly but steadily swallowing up everything he’d known for the past seventy years.  
In a way it made him feel…calm. As if he was flying, higher than he’d done in the army. As if he was somehow even lighter than he had ever been. It reminded him of the feeling of dropping a heavy backpack. How you’d suddenly feel as if though you'd been freed from everything and was ready to fly off. As the flames engulfed his surroundings Steve let himself drift off the floor. He closed his eyes and waited for what was to come, because he could tell that something was happening. He faintly remembered reading somewhere that ghosts were waiting to move on, but for the first time hat actually felt like it was long ago. Too long ago for him to remember properly, or really care. He just felt tired, and quite frankly couldn't wait to see what was coming.  
But just as his feet left the floor something stopped him. It wasn't the usual weight that’s keep him from exploring the next floor of the apartment complex. It felt like something was physically stopping him. Almost afraid of what he would find he slowly opened his eyes.  
”I’m sorry” Tony whispered. ”You were going away”  
Steve stared at him. He looked as healthy as ever, in fact even healthier than Steve had ever seen him, yet he knew that something was wrong.  
Tony was touching him.  
And suddenly Steve felt the weight he had grown accustomed to fall back, but didn't care much. He didn’t care much about anything happening around them. The collapsing walls, the firemen carrying off a lifeless body. It all seemed surreal, as if it was happening far away, and the only thing he could focus on was Tony.  
Without thinking, Steve took a step forward, taking Tony’s hands. He had to stop himself from just running his hands all over Tony because he could actually feel him. He felt some kind of heat radiating off of him, the texture of his long-sleeved shirt and, when he changed their position to a hug, how smooth his hair was. There were things missing, of course, but a pulse seemed somewhat trivial at the moment.  
”It’s okay” Steve carefully stroked the back of Tony’s head ”I’m not leaving”

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing this a little too much  
> Tell me what you think (commenting is free!), have fun and don't do murder  
> Bye kids!


End file.
